Nothing Sweeter
by alwaysmonchele
Summary: "She had somehow been alive after a gunshot to her head, and that breath she took was another chance. No way in hell was he goi'na let her risk her life for somethin' so stupid. No fuckin' way. So here he was, a forty two year old man telling his twenty nine year old wife that she wasn't havin' no damn baby."
1. Chapter 1

AN: Hello my fellow Bethylers! I have recently rediscovered my love for Bethyl, and wanted to publish a story of my own. This may be all over the place, but I love a good angsty/steamy/angry fic, so I had to make a Bethyl one to soothe my own needs. This takes place after Grady, when the group is already in ASZ (Alexandria Safe Zone). In my world, two people are assigned a house, and in this situation it's Beth and Daryl's house. I hope you all enjoy this and let me know some feed back. I was so nervous to write this because this is so out of my comfort zone, but I couldn't help myself. As always, I love you all. / DISCLAIMER: Beth/Daryl/Walking Dead is not mine.

* * *

Red.

That was all he saw. Knuckles were white gripped tightly against the cool white granite counter top of their kitchen sink.

He didn't know what exactly he was looking at, or if he was even looking at anything. It reminded him of the moment he sat on his knees in front of the giant metal basin pooled with deep crimson blood of strangers, staring up into something, anything – that would take his mind off of what was right in front of him.

Someone needed to talk some kinda sense, because there hadn't seemed to be any for as long as he could damn well remember.

_"Damn you, Daryl Dixon. I hate you for doing this to me. I love it. It's my decision."_

Losing her was something he didn't know how to deal with. How in the hell was he supposed to understand how someone so innocent and young could just be gone – ripped away from the world in such a quick and rash moment without any thinking or actions – how she could just be gone in a matter of seconds. He could remember the sound of the gun in his ears, ringing louder than any gun had ever rang before. He could remember the tightness in his chest the moment he realized it was her.

The tearing his felt in his whole body was something he would never forget – the feeling that she was gone. Knowing she wasn't there anymore – not his anymore. The moment she hit the floor he knew his life was done. Everything he had left was dead. Everything he had done up until this point had been for nothing, and now he had absolutely nothing left.

"You are so fucked up, girl – you _know_ that? How the fuck you think it's gon' be? Huh?" His nostrils flared wide, anger reeling through his veins. She could see the veins in his forearms proturude from his skin as he gripped the counter, but her focus remained on his face - because to hell she would go if she shied down from this.

He remembered not being able to get up off of the floor with her in his arms. The feeling in his knees that locked them into place there kneeled on the cool tile floor of that hospital in her pool of blood. He could still feel the lead in his legs as he found himself walking towards the people she loved – her body limp and heavy in his own.

He still tasted the blood on his lips as he touched them to hers so lightly, so carefully – so desperately and so – _so_ painfully. The way his heart ached deep in his chest was still there. It still crept in again and again - that terrible and sickening feeling of nausea at the thought and sight of her lifeless body.

"How do I think it's gonna _be_? I think it's gonna be good! I think it's gonna be mine – ours! It's _ours_, Daryl." Her lips moved fluently, never faltering or stuttering a word. She knew exactly what to say – all the damn time. Never did he ever hear her say something that didn' make sense – 'cept this.

He could feel the cement in his knees as he knelt with her, the shakes that raked through his body as he wept over her, and the deep breath he took when she opened her eyes to find his. His eyes locked on hers for what felt like an eternity before she started gasping for air – a sound that should have sent him straight to his grave over a heart attack.

He couldn't put a feeling or emotion to how he felt in that moment – and he didn't know if he ever would be able to. How can you tell someone how it feels to have the only person you ever really loved die in front of you only to be brought back to life minutes later?

Daryl Dixon never thought he would amount to much. He never expected to live longer than twenty-five if he was being honest, and never in his whole entire life did he imagine that he would be having this conversation with a younger blonde female with long hair and blue eyes – a woman who he loved so completely and so horribly.

Never did he ever tell her how he felt – because losing her once was more than enough and he refused to ever feel that way again. He knew that if and when god-forbid he were to lose her again, that would be it. He would be dead right along with her – and if he wasn't, he would make sure he was.

She had somehow been alive after a gunshot to her head, and that breath she took was another chance. Nothing would ever harm her if he was around again. He promised to himself that she would never be in danger as long as he could prevent it. No way in hell was he goi'na let her risk her life for somethin' so stupid. No _fuckin_' way.

So here he was, a forty-two year old man telling his twenty nine year old wife that she wasn't havin' no damn _baby._

Her eyes were cold and fierce, anger so clear as he stared back at her as she leaned against the counter across from him. She was clad in a loose worn gray sleeved top, tight in the midsection, taught across the bump in her belly. Her black pants were tight against her legs, slim and slender as she crossed them so gracefully with one foot fit behind the other, her toenails painted a deep shade of crimson near black, and _damn_ her for havin' the time to paint her damn toenails.

Her blonde hair was messy and long, waves running through, and he wasn't sure she had ever looked more fucking beautiful than she did right now, but _fuck_ was she digging her damn grave.

He didn't remember exactly when she told him - it was last season probably, and he couldn't for the life of him remember what he said to her. He knew he probably told her somethin' stupid that made her mad because he does remember her not talkin' to him up until right now.

Because right now - it was there again - the _problem_. She was right jack in the middle of folding some stupid piece of clothing that was small enough to fit on a rat, and he damn near lost it. He exploded - pointing a hard finger at her and askin' _What the fuck was she doin' with them damn baby clothes - cause we ain't havin' no damn baby!_ And after his shouting, she quietly looked up at him and sneered - going back to what she was doing happily a moment before.

And that was how they got here. Cause she was livin' in a damn fantasy - buyin' clothes for a baby she wasn't even goin'a have.

Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, bigger than it had been – growing to accomidate it, and in that moment all he could do was laugh. A throaty laugh coursed through him as he looked at her, pointing a sharp finger at her – accusing and angry.

"Fuck you, Beth…your fuckin' doin' this to me again. You think you ain't gonna die? That's a fuckin' joke, girl. Your givin' up your life for that damn thing that ain't gon' amount to shit." He bit at her, his voice harsh and course.

Her eyes never left his as they tilted up with her smile as she hatefully laughed back at him.

"You are so damn scared, Daryl…so _fuckin_' _scared_ of bein' responsible for somethin' you know you gotta care for. God forbid you face reality. God _forbid_ you care about somethin'! I didn' die that day – don't you _dare_ forget that." She bit back at him, her arms now uncrossed and braced against the counter he was braced against.

She was closer to him this time, seething into his face across the table. His eyes searched hers and he opened his mouth again.

"I ain't afraid of _nothin_' girl. But you ain't havin' that ki-" Before he could finish, a small and hard hand came into contact with his cheek, a sting of pain running through it. The sting of it made his eyes expand, the look sporting to her one he hadn't ever given her.

_Damn_ it. Never had she ever hit him. Looking at her with that look she should be scared of, she leaned closer to him.

"I'm havin' this _baby_, and if I die doin' it then so be it! It'll be your damn fault for wishin' it on me – on _us_! We could be a family here – theres a god damn nursery upstairs, _sweetheart_! We're havin' a baby – I'm pregnant with _your_ child – my _husband's_ child. And damn you for rejecting us. Through sickness and health. _Fuck. You_." She spit her words harsh at him as she turned on her heel away from him.

Without thinking, he darted behind her, grabbing tightly onto her arm spinning her around to face him, her hair whipping around her face, getting caught in her lips as she looked up at him. Her free hand came up to try and hit him again, this time failing as he grabbed her other hand, pinning them in the air beside her head as she struggled against him. Sure, he was so fuckin' angry - but no way was he goin'a let her walk away from him.

He watched her face as it contorted with anger and pain as she continued to battle him in the worst way – his face still and staring – watching her – studying her.

Her small whimpers and gasps along with groans rung through his ears as he held her arms in place, never letting them go as she struggled against them, not sayin' a word and then he felt her finally beginning to ease her force against him. Then he heard it.

"I hate you, Daryl – I hate you, I _hate_ you!" Her head hung, words spilling from her mouth as her forehead leaned against his chest. Sure, it pained him to hear it - and _hell_, it was probably even true - but he loved her too much to give in - to let her have her way - not on this.

He felt her body start to quiver with emotion as she brought her body closer to his, seeking comfort – seeking _him_.

His hands found her head as he held her against him, that same tightness he felt so many times creeping up around him. Never did he ever want a kid – that wasn't ever something he thought about or considered. Why in the hell would he think about a damn baby? Specially right now - in this world. Fuck _no_.

His love life alone was never something to brag about – and he was still surprised everyday when he woke up next to her. Of course, he knew that had the world not ended, this woman would have never been anywhere in his sights – nor him in hers.

But now here they were – married and _pregnant_.

* * *

He really wasn't sure what to even call them anymore.

They fought daily, the both of them seething with anger before going to work, coming home tired and hungry not for food. They didn't kiss at all – him not being able to remember the last time his lips were on hers.

She never brought it up – never told him when she was in pain, or when she felt it moving – never asked him for food, or a foot rub. She did everything on her own. He could see in the steps she took that she was getting tired – bored and aggravated not only with him – but with it.

Her hands were constantly on her bump or her back, sometimes both as she would wince and then act as if it didn't happen.

He watched her constantly, when she showered - when she slept, when she ate – when she dressed. He bit back smirks when she would huff into her pants – tugging her shirts over the large mound planted in the middle of her body. He could catch her talkin' to it sometimes, words he couldn't hear - maybe words he didn't _wanna_ hear.

She didn't get rid of it - not matter how hard they fought or how many nasty names he called her - she rebelled. Was she so damn wrapped around his finger that it hadn't crossed his mind once to drag her by her hand into that damn clinic and tell all of the staff that he didn't _care_ what she said - to get _rid_ of it?

So there, in their bed in the early hours of the morning, she had managed to wake him up - and ask him to fuck her. He stared at her and didn't say a word, and let her do what she wanted. Wasn't that all that was happening now a days? Somewhere, he had stopped yelling - stopped asking - and stopped telling.

Sharp nails dug intentionally into the tanned skin of his back, close to the scar that he could still feel underneath the thick skin that was back there.

She sometimes whined and squirmed in her sleep, a hand always on her belly – sometimes grabbing and sometimes clawing – and it was then that he would take her hand into his own and she would wake up, looking at him and then turning onto her side away from him – their hands disconnecting.

So right now to his surprise, in the winter – months away from when she told him in the spring, she is underneath him after dragging him atop of her in the middle of the night – bringing him out of his sleep begging him for sex. Sure, he missed it - missed _her_, but he _hated_ her. He hated what she was doing to him - what she was taking from him and he was angry. He was so damn _angry_ with her for being so stupid and so _selfish_.

"God dammit girl, what are you even fuckin' _doing_!" He hissed atop of her as her fingertips pressed harder and with increasing pressure into his back. Bruises formed just beneath the skin, and he looked at her, before his lips curved up into a sarcastic and menacing smile, cackling in a hideous malice. _Fuck it all right now, I guess._

His body pressed down onto hers, her bump probing into his abdomen, reminding him of what they had done. Constantly fuckin' reminding him and never letting him forget it.

"Nothin', motherfucker," she responded, quietly and softly, a low rasp in comparison to his tone before he leaned down, face beside that of the smaller girl's in an almost condescending gesture of 'equality'.

The name made him blink, her never calling him a name before, her anger as clear as his right now - but fuck if he was goin'a let this moment perish. He missed her - missed touching her - missed being inside her. All because that little fuckin' monster that had taken root inside his wife without his permission.

"Nothin' my ass – you better watch yourself girl." he hissed loudly and without hesitation directly into her ear. He drew back from the sensation, a pained gasp escaping his lips, shocked and put off by the sudden bombardment of his eardrums.

"You're a goddamn jackass, that doesn't deserve shit!" she heaved, pausing with every meaningless attempt at flinging the man from off top of her.

For a split second , his eyes flashed to hers with a trace of real and true anger, rage that coursed through him before staring at her with the same eyes that saw her wake up after death, and he forgot everything all over again - and there it was. The one thing that could bring him to his knees.

He saw through that though - he saw through her weak attempts at fury, and at ridding herself of this 'jackass', he saw straight to her pathetic little lies. She cared for him just as he cared for her, and that was where it got murky.

It was pacifying, it was companionship, it was caliginous, it was all these things and more in a clashing of pity, disdain, hatred, competition, adoration, protection, possession - and all so much more.

He slid his calloused hand beneath her shirt, fingertips teasing over her heated and smooth, familiar skin. Nails dug down simultaneously, one on his neck, and the other dragging slow, skin-breaking lines down his side. Her back curved up along the mattress, a hiss of a gasp escaping her clamp-shut teeth.

By the time she found herself at this point, there was literally nothing he could do - it was simply the truth, and something he had found that he just had to get fucking used to. And yet he never seemed to, and never would, no matter how much the lovable but terrifying girl repeated the same systematic overbearing.

Soon she not only pressed her nails in, but clenched his neck entirely, cutting off the air just so from making it in and out of his windpipe.

He wanted to growl at her like a wolf – like an animal, but he found himself merely struggling for some time, until eventually relaxing, his head light and his gasps flowing slowly and evenly between his lips. In his lack of awareness he nearly missed her palm pressing against the curve of his jeans, just over his crotch.

Within his mind-lost stupor, his hips jolted in surprise with a hesitant mewl, before he quickly dug his row of sharpened teeth into his her soft pink lower lip, beckoning her blood he so detested to drip for all he cared, so long as his last ounce of dignity not be stripped from him.

And yet that was just her damn intent, as he snaked his tongue 'round her ear, breathing on the damp skin and adding some flow to the movement of her crotch-bound hand. He was doing all he could to withstand it, but with his own emotional attachments adding to the brewing pot of submission, the pleasures were coursing through him and bubbling to the surface.

It was within little time that she removed his hands from their current locations drawing a faint, raspy whine from her involuntary lips and onto her hips, hoisting her up and around onto all-fours, though without her cooperation ended up merely shoving her boney shoulders into the bed beneath her.

"Fuck, Daryl, quit it!" she hissed, trying to adjust herself, but again, he had nothing of that as he simply positioned himself comfortably on his knees behind her, quickly stripping both their skin of their garments.

Fear and exhilaration coursed throughout her while she continued to struggle, the cold, crisp air sliding with twisted vigor over her exposed rear. Grabbing her hip, his finger grazed against the bump, forgetting for a second that it was there – extra skin stretching and accommodating it.

She barely had any time to get comfortable and to adjust by the time his slimy finger was prodding at her entrance, the salty, only half-working layer of saliva coating it with just enough moisture to lessen the skin-on-skin friction.

"Shit!" She groaned, a powerful combination of both her own arousal and the initial pain the pleasurable pain she had become so accustomed to in their quadrant-skipping times together.

After some time of this, another finger inserted after another and she thanked the lord he bit his nails down these days, she seemed to be under the impression that they had had enough of playtime.

He withdrew his fingers and she bit down hard on her lip to hold back the involuntary gasp that would have otherwise been emitted - though she feared he had heard every noise regardless, and slicking his member, positioned properly, before going to slide in, tip just thin enough to not completely overwhelm her.

'_Completely_', being the key word there, as her back curved, her body betraying her and despite the feeling of helplessness that resulted, her hips responded eagerly as well. She began to build him a more steady rhythm, each thrust added to the thrusting of her own hips, her core pulsing around his hardened cock, her wetness helping glide in him in and out of her.

He then dug his fingers into Beth's long blonde nest of hair, pulling back on the girl's head as he plowed into her. He let out his own gentle sighs of relief along with heated grunts, all becoming more like a slow mumble of a cackle.

Their movements and their friction slowly harmonized, reaching passions and throws beyond proper comprehension, the tension and the pressure building up beneath skin and within nerves outstretched over every inch.

The pain that resulted was only more exciting - nails dragging through the skin of her scalp, the not-quite-lubed roughening of skin with each thrust in and out. It all made every sensation feel emphasized by millions, and though she continued to mock him through their tirades, he could no longer hear as he neared his final release.

"Shit, _damn_, shit Beth, I'm gonna…!" he hissed, trying to speak a warning - a roundabout way of saying_ God dammit, please tell me to pull out_. And pull out he doesn't, as he leaned down once more, clamping his mouth onto the her neck so as to suck, tongue working at her skin in time with every thrust, hips quaking and becoming more forceful with each movement.

Beth came before him, her core pulsing with her release, clamping around him and milking him for all he was worth, almost as if begging for his own release. The shocks went through her once more, twice more, and thrice more while Daryl continued, powering towards his orgasm, before heat wafted over him and he reached his own peace, coming inside her.

The second time he had ever came inside of her – realizing that the worst to happen had already happened, and hell if he wasn't going to enjoy it while he had it. But _fuck_ \- had he not learned from his mistake?

Did he even _care_? Was he really that stupid to risk her life for that one moment of irrational pleasure, just wanting to implode into her as if they didn't need to worry about the consequences. She was his damn _wife_ after all.

And wife she was. Beth Dixon was his wife that he married in the damn _apocalypse_, a thirteen year gap between them, knocked up with his kid inside her belly.

And with a deep breath, he pulled out, a dazed and dumb and involuntary smirk on his face that stood in contrast to his look laced with sadism from before. He took the dazed girl into his arms, ignoring whatever mess or obligations there were for this moment, and enjoying the brief aftermath for what it was. He knew this would be different in the morning, and he might as well enjoy it while he's got it.

They supposed it didn't matter what to call them, not anymore.

* * *

He knew something was wrong when she was hunched over the bed at 3:30 in the morning. He was woken up on his own to seeing her across from him bracing herself and crying. He watched her for a moment before jumping to his senses and sitting up in the bed and meeting her eyes.

"I'm sorry." The words spill from her mouth so easily and he isn't sure if she had meant to say it aloud as she watches him, tears clouding her eyes. Her nose scrunches up as she grits her teeth and lets out a breath and a whine, her knuckles white gripping the sheets.

He continues to watch her before getting on his feet and rounding the bed, his hands coming to rest on her stomach, his hands warm against her skin as the tearing continues to rip through her.

She continues to cry and whine and he almost feels bad for her – _guilty_ even.

But he then remembers that _she_ did this. She betrayed him in the worst way possible and this was _her_ fault - and he _hated_ her for it.

Her hands go over his and grip them with such force that he hasn't ever seen from her before, and she pushes her body back against him. His hands are still against her bump, and then he feels it – the squirmy move against her taught skin and he almost shouts.

The jelly like movements against his palms doesn't stop, and it's like he's feeling a fish squirm against a bag, trapped inside. It almost brings him to his knees as he realizes that this is real – right fucking now is so real and she's having a baby. His anger seems to flood away for the moment and he's relishing in the thought of an actual human being living inside his wife.

A human is inside of her – grown by her for all these months alone, attached to her – part of her. And in this moment, she's getting ready to bring it into the world. It's grown into a baby and it's about to come into this scary and fucked up world.

It's also then that he realizes that this was his worst nightmare. This was the day he was going to lose her. He had stopped counting the days after she told him she was keeping it, and he had lost count so many months ago.

He put it off as much as possible, and now here it was. Here _she_ was – doing what she said she wanted.

His gripped her hands back – not completely sure if he realized he was doing it or not, but he leaned his head against her shoulder and moved her hair away from her neck, his lips next to her ear.

All the years they had spent together had come down to this very moment in their lives. Married for two years, pregnant for almost one. Almost dead, lost, trapped, taken - all in their time together. And now this was it. Something anyone would kill for. Something couples cried over and smiled about – and this was what was going to end them.

"I love you." He says to her, his lips moving against her earlobe as he hears her groan in pain immediately after, a gritted scream coming from between her lips.

She doesn't say anything back to him – and he isn't surprised as this is the first time he thinks he's ever said that out loud – the first time maybe even thinking it.

Now of all times.

They never talked about what to do when this time came – and it isn't too surprising since they didn't talk much at all in the past few months.

His hands still were in hers, and he slowly turns her and helps her onto the floor, sure that knowing Beth, she would rather not ruin the sheets they had finally had.

He had called the medical department over the walkie that they had been given when she started getting those damn check ups.

* * *

Three hours passed and he was now a completely different person. Her labor seemed to be shorter, and not lasting really long like first time labors should be. Not that he knew much of anything about havin' babies - specially in a damn apocalypse, but he sure as hell wasn't complaining.

He sat in a fold out chair next to a hospital bed that he assumed was for having babies, her arm connected to an IV and her belly strapped with a monitor.

She clung onto him almost as if her life depended on it – which maybe it did, and he would not let go. He never imagined being here – in this moment when it actually happened, and he knew that even if he wanted to – he couldn't leave.

He watched her breathe through painful contractions every two minutes, and Daryl would get his hand squeezed and sometimes knuckles rolled when he quietly reminded his wife to breathe.

She was in no mood and as much as he wanted to tell her he forgave her, to tell himself he did, he refrained and just watched her – hoping that maybe his eyes could say what his mouth couldn't.

"Remember to breathe." He said gently and quietly, feeling his hand going numb once again and Beth biting her lip and crying out a bit.

"Tell me to breathe one more time and I'll make you never breathe again." She quietly growled back hostilely as she tried to breathe through another contraction.

Daryl said nothing, as he usually wouldn't do – usually hadn't done in the last seven months – and even now it was a surprise that they were conversing as much as they were, since she was experiencing the worst pain of her entire life and hell if now was the time to finally converse.

When the contraction was over, she started to pant, "I want him out…"

Hearing her words, he looked up to her and squinted, trying to comprehend her words – trying to process that she had just referred to it as a 'him' – that this thing was actually a possible boy – a _son_. What the _fuck_.

Just then the nurse assigned to monitor her during her labor knocked on the door and entered the room.

Jessie was her name and she was a bright blonde who obviously loved her job.

She heard Beth's announcement and she gave a small smile, "Then let's check how far along you are."

He watched her as she put on a pair of rubber gloves and gently helped Beth move her legs into the blue rests on the end of the bed, spreading them apart.

He rubbed her hand as she let out a whimper as Jessie checked her dilation. When she reappeared from between her legs, she had a light smile on her face,

"Good news - you've reached 10 centimeters." She said with a chip in her voice – and he couldn't understand how she could be excited – happy even. He knew what was going to happen and damn her for flaunting hope in their faces.

"What does that mean?" He finally asked.

"Beth is fully dilated and ready to push." Jessie replied, changing her pair of gloves for a new pair, the snap making him jump.

That made his heart skip a beat - fear laced through his veins and _damn_ it that he felt that bile in his throat threatening to arise. he was fuckin' _terrified_.

"Now, I don't think Beth or this baby has the patience to wait for the doctor, so I'm going to deliver." She saw the apprehensive face on Beth but gave her a reassuring pat on her thigh, "Don't worry, I've delivered several babies before."

Beth nodded before she started to sit up, Jessie quickly gathering towels to put underneath her. Within seconds, she was on the edge of the bed with each of her knees bent apart and her hips spread. His eyes remained on the nurse, watching her cautiously and while he knew she was trying to help her - she would only end up hurting her in the end.

Jessie was between her legs and he was sat off to the side, his hand moving cautiously on her lower back and the other gripped tightly in his wife's grip.

"Okay Beth you're in control. On the next contraction, I want you to give a nice big push and hold it for ten seconds, okay?"

She answered with a grunt as she finally gave in to the pressure between her legs. Daryl felt her tense up and looked to see her face contorted in pain and then watched her body relax after Jessie finally said 'ten.'

After a few pushes, Beth finally cried out in pain; her head resting against the pillow behind her and her fingers digging into her legs, bracing herself against them.

"You're making excellent progress Beth; the head is starting to crown!" Jessie smiled brightly and she groaned in response.

Beth looked over at Daryl, "Do you want to look?" _What?_

The man gave her a blank stare not knowing the answer. He had had no part of this whole thing, never helping her - never bonding over it, and really didn't even realize the reality of it until three hours ago.

He truthfully didn't want to look, but he also didn't want to upset her…even more. He's already pissed her off earlier today, and all the other days before today and he definitely didn't want to do it while his wife delivered their baby.

God – their baby. How badly he wished he could be happy – could appreciate her for giving him this gift. But to him – his reality was that this kid was taking her away from him - and how could he accept that?

Eventually he found his voice.

"Sure." He rasped, and Jessie gestured for him to come next to her.

Standing from the chair, he looked at her as to ask "are you sure", before breaking the stare and moving a few steps down to the end of the bed.

When he looked between Beth's legs, he suddenly felt sick and a disgusting taste in his mouth. Beth, who wanted the pain to end, pushed with the next contraction, and Daryl saw his son's head emerge a little; it was dark and covered in blood and other fluids, "That's the head." Jessie said, even though he already knew what it was, "And I see hair!"

Beth gave another push and that was the end of it for Daryl.

Jessie announced, "The head's out! Daryl, do you want to-" He watched as she turned the head of the baby, it's face towards him and he damn near fainted. _Dear fucking Christ_ \- there it was. There was this thing between her legs coming out from inside of her and this was _real_…this was life and this was fucking _terrifying_.

"No." He bit sharply, looking away from the baby in front of him and moved back to his wife's side, kicking the chair away from the spot he stood in, standing next to her and taking her hand. His eyes connected with hers and he brought his head down to hers.

His other hand went into her hair, caressing her scalp as he leaned into her ear, telling her how sorry he was. In that moment, seeing something coming from her - her doing it all on her own made him so fucking sorry. So sorry that there was nothing he could do - nothing he could say that would change this or make up for that.

"I'm sorry, girl." He grunts only loud enough for her to hear, and her eyes clench tightly as she finds that as encourgment to push hard, gritting her teeth and groaning out a long cry before following with another.

"I'm going to pull the shoulders through, and I want you to breath deeply for me." Jessie tells her, making eye contact with Beth.

His head is still next to hers, but he is glancing down at the end of the bed where her legs are parted and she's holding her legs from underneath, gripping tightly. He watches the baby as its still inside her, coming from a place he had been do many times, slowly moving out of her and _holy shit_ \- that thing is _inside_ of her. They made that thing, and here it was.

No matter how many walkers he had driven a knife through, and how much blood he spilled and wore on a daily basis - this was something entirely different. This was blood that shouldn't have to be spilt.

He watches Jessie move her hands between her legs, twisting and pulling the baby, and he watches Beth's stomach contort and move like jelly and it's the strangest sight he's ever seen. He can't compare it to anything else in his life, and right here – right now is it.

He grabs her knee and squeezes lightly letting her know he's there, and he looks back at her as she looks at him and he can see pain in her eyes as she holds the stare, slowly moving her mouth open to cry out in pain – a scream louder than he has ever heard from her before.

Her eyes still hold his as he can hear suction from the other end of the bed, never breaking his stare with her.

He moves closer to her, and before he knows it – he's telling her he loves her and tears are welling in his eyes as he tries to blink them away before kissing her hard and needy, feeling the tears fall down his face.

She presses her lips back against his as the grip on her knee tightens and her body is tense, pushing the baby out the rest of the way.

He heard her groan into his mouth, a wailing cry erupting into the room, and he finally hears it.

"It's a girl!" He can't believe he manages to hear Jessie's voice over the wailing, and he finally breaks away from his wife and looks at her – expecting to see her fall limp against the bed – now gone that it's here.

But to his surprise, he pulls away and sees her crying as she looks at him, a smile spread wide across her face and he doesn't realize what's happening before he sees a bloody and squirming thing on his wife's bare chest, small blue fists flying in the air.

He watches her hands find the squirming mess and hold it against her, crying and talking to it – talking to the baby – the _girl_. He just went along with her when she said it was a him, and now that wasn't true.

"A girl – it's a girl!" she smiles brightly up at him, tears still freshly flowing from her eyes as he realizes that his own are flowing too.

He looks down to the screaming mess in his wife's arms, and he can't believe it. He gently reaches out to touch the baby, the skin soft and so warm. His hands move on her back, as if trying to soothe her and he watches her as he hears Beth whisper to the baby.

Suddenly, he realizes that he isn't mourning - he isn't saying goodbye, and he isn't losing _anything_. He's _gaining_ a kid - a baby with the woman he loves more than anything in the entire fucking _world_.

"I love you sweetheart. Mommy loves you so much." She whispers, pressing kisses to her head again and again, and he quickly realizes that holy shit…she's here. They both are – somehow his wife is still breathing and she's alive and then there's this tiny version of his wife crying and squirming in her arms and watching her cradle the baby against her - he realizes that that baby is him too. He put that thing inside of her and she took care of it while he neglected it. She brought it into the world - fighting the whole time. She endured pain he would never understand, and his heart swooned.

He watches the baby squirm against her chest, lips latching on her skin, moving against her mother searching for warmth and he realizes he's crying. He's crying like a baby - just like the one they just had. She cradled her against her, and he's in a moment of adoration watching her hold their baby for the first time.

She's a mommy…said so herself. That thing right there on her chest moving and breathing is her _daughter_ – is _his_ daughter – is their daughter, and holy shit he's a father.

It's then that he finally hears Jessie's voice again and when he looks to her, she's throwing away her gloves, and Beth's legs are down and she's just laying there – _okay_.

"Congratulations you two – do you have a name?" She asks a question he's never heard and no – a _name_? For _what_? The baby he didn't even plan for and didn't even face having until now?

But it's then that he hears her speak up, and he's so thankful that she does - because one of them has been loving this child all along.

"Scarlett" His head turns to his wife and he sees her looking down at the baby, smiling proudly as she takes his hand in her own, squeezing tightly.

"Scarlett Dixon." She says, and he finds himself staring dumbly at her as he understands what she's saying.

* * *

His daughter is amazing. She's everything he never thought he could be – or could have and she's bright and she's vibrant and she's _theirs_.

The first time she calls him daddy he nearly faints, and he thinks he cries but he doesn't let her see it – and instead her just goes to her because she is calling him, and she's holding out a writing worm in her hand, and he laughs at her in amazement and tells her she'd better put that down before her Mama sees and she blames him for makin' their daughter a scavenger.

Beth is sunshine and he can't understand why he ever doubted her. Why he ever questioned her ability to be a mom, or her choices to become one. He sure as hell doesn't know how in the world he thought she could leave him with this little spitfire of a daughter on his own.

He watches her every day - take care of her, put her to bed - brush her hair, cook dinner, dance around the house.

She's a fox and she's one sexy wife and one sexy as _hell_ Mama and he thanks her every day for it. He takes her in any way he can – any time he can – as much as he can and he nor she never complains.

So when she comes to their door one night, calling his name while he's inside her, and he looks down into his wife's eyes, asking – and she of course – nods her head to the door, he realizes that this is _life_. This life _was_ a nightmare - and nightmares end. Nothing was more important than _her_ – especially not sex.

So he presses a chaste kiss to her lips before handing her the blanket off of the floor and watches her pull it tight against her, naked underneath and he longs for it, but he knows it can wait; before pulling his pants on, shooting her a wink before making his way to their girl.

He opens the door for her and sees her long hair messy and brown, her small hands clung to a teddy bear he had gotten for her – and she looks up at him – and it nearly brings him to his knees.

"The hell you doin' up, girl?" he whispers, his voice hoarse as he pickes her up easily into his arms hugging her against his bare chest, turning her around to face her Mama.

"Want mama." She says, and her fist reaches out for Beth, and she clutches the sheet closer around her and reaches out for her baby, taking her from her husband's arms as she sits her in her lap, stroking her hair as she lays her head on her chest.

He steps back and looks at her for a moment, and she flashes him a smile and a small "I love you", and he smiles back and winks at her before making his way to his side of the bed.

Settled in, he glances over at his girls and sees that Letta is _already_ asleep, the bear hung from her hand freely, and Beth is looking over at him.

"Didn' think we'd get here." She whispers, and he takes her hand in his and runs his calloused thumb over the "A" on her wrist.

"Me neither, baby." He whispers back to her before moving close to her and cupping her face in his hand, hovering over her keeping their gaze before he kisses his wife, and his daughter goodnight.

* * *

I hope you guys enjoyed! Give me some feedback of ANY kind - and let me know if you'd like to see more Bethyl like this. After the SF of season 5, and being a little bit on Team Delusional, this is my outlet, and Bethyl will forever live on. TWD XOXO

-Stephanie


	2. Chapter 2

**BEFORE YOU READ**: After receiving a negative review for this story, that someone has found it offensive, it was brought to my attention and I wanted to address this immediately. If i failed to make it clear in the first chapter - this is an extremely ANGSTY story. That includes harsh language, and some physical encounters that may be found offensive by some. This id a story that comes from my imagination and this is how I wanted to write. That is MY decision, and if you do not like that, no one is forcing you to read it. I personally like angst and even a little bit of roughness around the edges. Hope this clears it up.

Hello my _friends_! I've decided to make this a two-parter, maybe even a three-parter. This one is probably just as choppy as the last, but I hope you enjoy it none the less! Let me know what you'd like to see next time…from this or from a different story! I appreciate all the feedback I've gotten on this story both on here and on Tumblr. I am still Bethyl strong.

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own TWD or its characters.

* * *

"_Damn it_" He snapped, pulling his finger back from the boards of wood, catching his skin between them.

He'd been trying to put this damn bed together for almost three days now – and he was starting to feel like an utter failure. What kinda man couldn't put together a damn kiddy bed?

Of course, Beth offered her hand and help, but he shooed her away as quickly as he could – not wanting her thinking he needed any help. He was a man – a dad – a husband, and shit if he wasn't goin'a put together this damn bed.

She was a little devil. She was climbing out of her crib when she was only nine months old, and Beth yelled at him for not making the bars high enough for her not to be able to get over them. But damn wasn't his fault!

He was getting blame for their girl bein'a damn devil – and he could already see how the rest of his life was gonna go. The girl was a Dixon, and she was already making that apparent.

Walking in on them having sex was his last straw. He put a lock on their door the next morning, and Beth was angry with him the entire day for not listening to her when she told him they shouldn't do it while she could still be awake. But damn it if he wasn't goin'a be able to fuck his wife cause his girl was a little minx.

She started talkin early, and he wasn't surprised since her Mama never shut up. She was always naggin' him and always sayin' somethin. But he never complained. Because those nine months of absolute silence was never something he ever wanted to relive.

Now at almost four years old, their girl was a damn _handful_.

She was constantly rollin' in the dirt, her clothes always ruined and her Mama yellin' at her to start actin' like a lady. He couldn't help but smile every time she came in with some mud on her cheek, happy and smilin' at them as if she had done somethin' so cool – and she had – to him.

He wanted his girl to be strong – not afraid – happy with whatever she wanted to do. But not Beth. Definitely not Beth. She put bows in her hair and gave her some braid, but by the end of the hour, they were out and most of the bows she had were never seen again.

He should get pissed with that – but somehow he don't. He's the one who has to make the runs and go and pick out shit that he ain't never seen before – tryna think about what Beth would like – and more times than not he would come home to a frown and a _y__ou really think I'm letting her wear this?_ and that always left him trottin' off mutterin' a _d__amn woman _behind him.

He'd stopped callin' her 'girl' since she was born, and she was now his 'woman'. Course, she was a woman already – almost thirty when she had her – now older at the age of around thirty-three from what he was countin.

She was stubborn and sometimes a damn nag, but his wife was a star and he would never forget that. He'd never take her for granted, or miss that moment after dinner when she'd clean the kitchen and he'd follow her around like a puppy, his mouth attached to her neck as she moved.

Sure, he loved the girl – but this one – his wife was somethin' else. He looked at her everyday and just wondered. Wondered how in the hell he got this lucky, The end of the world was it for him – it for everyone. Who thought that this place could have been the hope they had dreamed about for so long? Gone through so many small places – danger all around to make it here – to safety – to a bed – to a shower – to a house – and to a _family_.

He wondered how he ever doubted his ability to love his kid – his little girl who he would die for. He thought about how he hated Beth for doin' it to him and seemingly losing her over it. He couldn't wrap his mind around how one small person could change someone's life so completely in such a short amount of time.

Maybe he was soft – growin' weak in his knees, but hell if he didn't love them. He would give anything for them two, and sometimes he thought he would have to. He was always careful on trips with Aaron, something he didn't care about before – bein' careful. Who the fuck has time to be careful?

He did – now he did. He had a wife and girl at home who he needed.

Hell, if they wanted to populate so damn bad, he'd be more than happy to just keep makin' babies with Beth.

He never brought it up to her – and she dind't either. He thought that after havin' her, that was the end of it – and it really never crossed his mind to ever have another one. Havin' their first was bad enough, and he knew that the thought of a second would be completely different, but could they really? Could they really make a family? The girl had been an accident – a happy accicdent but an accident none the less.

Not one person in hee had had a baby since they got there, cept' them. No one was eager to expand their family – maybe because they had already established theirs before. He didn't know – but did he even care? Since when did he give a shit what other people did or thought? He was livin' for him – livin' for them now, and hell – if she wanted another one he knew he wouldn't say no.

He would happily give her himself to do whatever she wanted until she got it.

He knew he found love where it wasn't supposed to be, and he couldn't have been more damn happy about it. Someone told him once that if it ain't right – you don't do it. But fuck if he was abiding by that. In no way shape or form was it right to be havin' a damn baby in an apocalypse but his life told him otherwise.

His girl was the reason why he was here – feet planted on the ground. Cause had she not been here – sure, he'd probably be happy with Beth – but he understood why people _had_ kids. He understood the love a father has for his daughter – and why Rick loved Judith so immensely even though he knew she probably wasn't his.

The slammin' door snapped him out of his stupor as his eyes looked to the culprit of his girl standin there in her rain boots caked in grass, and he smirked and ushered her to take them off. She laughed giddily and shook her head at him, running toward him – and he quickly shot to his feet and scooped her up hastily.

"Girl you gon'a be the death of me." He told her, walking her out onto the porch sitting her down on the step and startin' to take her boots off before he heard the crackling of the gravel and snapped his head up to meet her eyes, tilted up in a smile as she looked at them.

She was working in the school on the corner, teachin' all the kids things they needed to know, and he couldn't be more proud of her. She stood there in her light jeans and white sun shirt, her hair flowing long – rarely cut.

It was like light shined through her onto him, showing off things no one had ever seen without her. She brought out things in him he never imagined that could be there. Let alone her, then adding Letta – he was such a different man than he used to be. He had a purpose here – someone to be – a job to fill.

He thinks back to the day Aaron tells him he wants him to build a bike. How he felt like maybe that was good. Like maybe that was his purpose. That small thing gave him hope. Now, his life was full of that shit. Hope. Something he never had – never. In his life, hope wasn't something he ever had, nor needed.

Now, with a wife and a kid – hope was so important to him. He was hopeful for his life with them – he looked forward to each day, and that wasn't something he ever thought he would be able to say. He didn't think he could love – could feel.

He remembers the hopeless feeling when she was still pregnant – the feeling of being able to do absolutely nothing. The fear that ripped through him day to day – his mind so convinced that she would be gone soon. It pulled at his heart every time he thought about it because he had put the weight of the world on his small baby – his little girl was thought to blame for taking her away from him – and he was so sure that that was exactly what was going to happen. He was so sure that she would be gone and he would be stuck with a baby that he hated and blamed for the death of its mother – and how far from the truth that was now.

"What are you two doin' out here?" She asks with a smile on her face as she moves towards them up the stairs and she pulls on her pair gently before pressing a kiss to her head, looking to him and smiling that smile and she kisses him on the lips – hard and love just blows through him. How much he loves this woman.

* * *

"Beth?" He asks in the dark – sure she's asleep, but quietly questioning.

He heard her murmur a soft "Hmm?" and he smiles a little, turning his head to face her with her eyes still closed but her brow raised in question.

"Love ya." He says simply, still looking at her as he just watches her smile a little and nod, telling him she loves him too before drifting back to sleep, and he isn't sure if she was conscious enough to hear him fully – but he knows she knows. He doesn't make note of every time he says it – and he's sure he doesn't say it nearly enough as he should be he knows that she knows.

Letta on the other hand – he isn't sure that he tells the girl just how much he loves her, and he looks up at the ceiling of their bedroom, glancing back at her before slowly making his way out of bed, making sure she's still fully covered with the thick blankets.

He leaves the room and heads to the right down the hall towards her room and he slowly pokes his head through the door frame and smirks when he finds her on her back in bed, her same bear in one hand and the other high above her head. Her lips are parted, and her hair is a wild mess – and he can't stop staring at her.

He's not sure if he ever really, really looks at her – but he wants to. Wants to start making it a conscious effort to know her – to know everything that there is to possibly know about his daughter – because that is exactly what she is. His daughter, and he wants her to know that she's daddy's girl, and that he knows his girl like no one else does.

He moves into the room and sits down on the chair beside her bed, it finally coming together that night – and he wanted to make sure she was sleepin' like a baby and that she couldn't somehow be hurt by it if he had done somethin' wrong. Picking up the book that had fallen to the floor beside her, mindlessly forgotten about as she fell asleep. He read the title, and remembered the first time he ever read her "Goodnight Moon." She was only weeks old, and he didn't remember if he wanted to or if Beth told him to – but he remembers watching the baby fall asleep before him, her small hands grabbing at air, and he was so amazed that he made hands – that he had a part in creating a person.

It was in that moment that he was done. He was done fighting it. This was his life and he would be damned if he let it go to waste. She was here and she was real – and she needed love, and how could he consciously deny her of that. How could he not give his whole life to his kin?

He knew Beth loved being a mom. He could see how well she was molded for it – and he shoulda known the moment she took the reins as a mother to Judith when she came, but he didn't – and it became clear to him the moment she cradled that baby to her chest the day she was born that this was what she always wanted, and he felt an immense amount of guilt for trying to rob that from her.

He thought now that babies were like miracles. Maybe children were saviors. Sent down from heaven to cure people of their sins and all the badness in a person. He thinks this because that is exactly what she has done to him. He doesn't ever think about doin' somethin' bad because forbid that would come back down on her – he would never forgave himself. He wanted her to have the most amazing life – and have the greatest amount of love that any kid could ever feel. He needed her to know that.

Beth had told him once that he was such a good daddy, and that he could never be perfect no matter how many times he tried – and that was okay. But that wasn't good enough for him. He wanted to be the perfect father for her – to make no mistakes – never let her down – never hurt her.

He watched her stomach fall up and down with her short breaths, and he smiled back up to her face, still amazed at how much he saw Beth in her. She was so much like her Mama, and had it not been for the dark brown hair that cascaded down her back – he would have never believed she was really his.

Beth teased him constantly about her attitude bein' just like his – and he always scuffed her off, sayin' she wasn't nothin' like him – but he knew she was – and today when she stomped around in those dirty boots – he saw that. But maybe, just maybe…that was okay.

* * *

"You'd better get upstairs _now_, girl!" He yells at her, and he sees her back away, tears forming in her deep blue eyes that reminded him so much of Beth's, and instantly, he regrets it. He steps forward to her as if to say he's sorry, and she runs up the stairs and he can hear her crying from his spot on the floor, and he sighs when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"She's _your_ daughter." She says, and goes back to mixing some kind of muffins she's makin'. He smiles softly at that, and he knows she only tells him she's _his_ daughter is when she's resembling' him, and he knows she is - right now.

He looks at her with a hand over his eyes, and sits down on the couch across from her spot in the kitchen and he asks her if she thinks Letta's goin'a hate him.

She laughs and looks back at him and he quirks a brow because he's serious – he's not jokin' around and he's afraid his little girl won't never talk to him again.

"No darlin' – she ain't gonna hate you. You're her daddy, and that little attitude of hers needs to be put in place." She says smirkin' back at him. She can see the hurt in his eyes, and she stops what she's doing to go next to him and she cups his face in her hand as she stands in front of him while he sits slouched and sad on the sofa, eyes looking up into hers – seeking comfort.

"Daryl – you're her _father_ – if _you_ don't discipline her, she'll never learn." She says softly, and his hands find her hips, bringing her close to him, his head resting on her stomach as she holds his head in place.

He knows she's no softie when it comes to trouble, and she never fails to let that girl know when shes been bad. There've been several times where Beth's given her the _"get to your room now_" junk, and he's just sat behind and watched – noddin' to her that he agreed. Rarely had it been him to be the one tellin' her how she needed to be actin'.

"Love ya, baby." He says into her shirt and places a kiss there, on the place that held her those years ago, and he looks up at her. He tells her he's gonna go up there, and she nods her head, giving him a quick kiss and tells him she loves him too.

His mind drifts back to a night five years ago when she was lying on their bed reading some kind of book with a red border on the cover, with her hand on her belly – rubbing circles, and he stood in the doorway cleaning his bow, watching her carefully – afraid that if she caught him he would never live it down.

She had a warm heart and she had a beautiful brain – but it was disintegratin' and he wanted nothing more than to throw that book into the fire and scream at her. The rage he felt towards her for all those months ate him alive day in and day out and nothing – nothing was able to take his mind off of it. She could still be what she wanted to be when she met him – but instead, she was bein' selfish and stupid and so damn vulnerable.

He rounds his way to her door, and he hesitates before goin' in and he sees her sittin' on the floor in her striped pj's and he smirks a little before she looks up at him. He stares at her before givin' her a small smile and he goes and sits down next to her.

"I love ya, girl." He says, and he looks at her from beside him and she's staring back at him with dry eyes, and she doesn't say anything before she crawls into his lap and hugs him round his waist, her face in his belly, and he holds her right back – tight as if he'd never let go, and he was happy – happy to be able to tell her no, and happy that she was maybe okay with that.

He picks her up and carries her downstairs, and Beth tells her she can stay if she behaves, and Letta nods eagerly, and lets him go to go to her mama, huggin' her leg and he watches as Beth smoothes her hair down and whispers somethin' in her ear and before he knows it, she's out of sight.

* * *

It's an hour later when he hears her small footsteps behind him as he watches the fire burn, Beth's legs in his lap, and he doesn't turn his head – afraid if he does she might run. So he stays still, his eyes kept in front of him and then he hears the small word that makes him breathe again.

"Daddy?" She calls, and his head instantly turns to her, and he smiles slightly and motions for her to come'ere and she does – she comes around the couch to face him, and she looks to her mama as if for permission, and climbs into his lap – her face on his chest as she tells him she loves him.

His shoulders feel light again, and he lets her know he's sorry he yelled, and tells her how important she is to him and her mama.

She mumbles and then she's asleep and he's watching her as she breathes, raving in the glory of being able to see her just be.

He looks over to Beth, and she too is asleep and he's alone in the dark – the lights off tonight, and he decides that right now is one of the best moments he's ever had in his life.

This is a moment where there's silence and darkness and there's no present danger, and he isn't missin' anythin', and everything is okay. He isn't angry at anythin', and he ain't scared neither.

Looking at her, all he sees is Beth, and he's so damn thankful that she's just like her – because damn it if he was gonna go through life wonderin' what it'd be like to see her in his shoes. Infinity times infinity was the amount of love he had for the both of them, and though he rarely said it – he felt it so strong and he knew it could kill him if it wanted to. He could die happily in love with the both of them, and it'd be okay.

The next morning, he's so surprised that she's pullin' the shit she is after last night, and he's just starin' at her with disbelief as she carries on like a baby.

"_Why not_?" She whines, and he continues to glare at her from the side, and she just stares back at him like she's challenging him – and he can't. He can't yell at her – can't scold her. He's too afraid she'll run away again, and this time she won't forgive him and she'll hate him for bein' a shitty dad. He found himself between a fuckin' _rock_ and a hard place – and even though he could hear his wife tellin' him he'd better leash that tone, he tried to keep his cool.

"Cause I said you ain't gettin' one." He says back to her with a slight sneer – hoping his point will get across and she'll stop fuckin' asking the same damn thing over and over again.

"But I want a sissy!" She complains, and smashes her spoon into her bowl – now empty, and he faces her completely, looking at her and his brow furrows a little – his eyes closing as he squints at her wondering how the hell she even knew what a sister was.

That night, in bed with his wife, he finally gets it.

"Daryl?" She asks at nearly three in the morning, and he's awake – looking over at her when she calls him.

Before he can answer, she's rolled over on her side looking at him and he feels like she's seeing right through him – down to the darkest part of him and he's afraid that she's gonna see somethin' that scares her and maybe she'll run away and she'll take her from him and he'll be alone – again.

She's looking up into his eyes and he's looking down at her, his hand gripping her hip – and she can tell he's tense as he watches her – and all she wants is to calm him – and all she wants is to cry and tell him how much she loves him and how happy she is – but she doesn't. Instead, she tells him she wants another baby.

"I've been thinkin' 'bout havin' another one." She says quietly, her eyes never leaving his and he knows what she means. He knew the moment Letta asked for a sister in the morning, and he just stared at her and shrugged, not givin' her any type of answer.

Sure, maybe he had overreacted a little bit when she was pregnant, but it was the end of the damn world, and it wasn't the time to be makin' babies for the fun of it. As much as he loved her, and though he'd die for her now, Letta had been an accident – one he damn nearly killed himself over, and he never imagined getting a woman pregnant on purpose would ever be an obstacle he would have to jump over.

Now, here he was – a married man with his wife askin' for another kid.

What the fuck was he supposed to say to her? Tell her 'sure', and try right away? Fuck no – because no one 'round here was havin' babies willingly, and his though his wife never ceased to susprise him, he didn't think she would think about going through that shit a second time.

"I know it's not perfect, but we've been so good for long – and a miss havin' a baby, Daryl." She tells him, blinking innocently, and he's still looking at her and he can already feel his resolve slipping away and damn him to hell for even thinking that this might be do-able.

Sure, his girl was a dime-piece, but could she really whip him hard enough to make him throw his hands up and let her take him for all his seed was worth? He didn't even know he could make babies, and he thought about laughin' at her when she first told him because what old man did he ever know that could knock up a pretty young blonde and have it be okay?

He thought the Dixon blood line would end with him, and he was so damn happy for that to be the case – to never have a boy carry on his name, but here was his girl with his last name, and he could only pray she'd marry a nice boy with a name as far from her own that she would just forget it all together.

He thought about that sometimes – how the world would be when she was old enough to understand it – to think about findin' a boy of her own. If there would be real people around and if she'd be able to have a family of her own without havin' the fear of dyin' for it.

It suddenly clicks for him, and his eyes widen a bit as he looks at her, and he feels the bile start to rise in his mouth.

"You been tellin' _Letta_ 'bout this?" He asks, and she stays quiet, staring up at him. Anger bubbled in his gut and he couldn't believe she could be so stupid. So damn stupid to tell their girl about some shit she didn' even understand – and now they were both fuckin' beggin' for it.

He shrugs the sheets off his body and makes his way out of the bed and Beth's callin' after him but he don't look back – he leaves and he don't know when he's comin' home.

* * *

It's the next mornin' when he comes home, and he can't see clearly, anger still inside him but he decides to let it go for now.

She's on the porch with an old book, and he glances out the window from the kitchen, and he sees a boy – a young fuckin' boy huggin' his wife and he damn near loses it.

He watches them closely, seeing the way his fingers curl into her skin, and he realizes he ain't even watchin' her 'cause all he sees is his damn hands on his girl.

He keeps his eyes on them until he leaves, and he waits until its three hours later, never leaving the kitchen and she comes strollin' in, askin' him what he wants for dinner. He doesn't answer her, and instead glares at her and she can tell he's raging inside.

He holds a glass in his hand, leaned against the sink, and he watches her as her smile fades away and he knows she knows. She stays silent for a moment before openin' her lips – and he watches them.

"I hate when we fight." She tells him, and he's lookin' at her incredulously, his gut raging with despise.

Her voice trembles under the invisible weight on her chest; and she suddenly feels trapped, afraid even. He's glaring at her from across the kitchen, and the glass in his hand gets thrown into the sink and he doesn't even flinch when it shatters in the bowl.

"You fucking love when we fight. You do it on purpose!" He sneers back at her, an accusing finger jabbing in her direction.

His eyes are narrow, mouth set into a snarl; the skin reddening down his chest. She takes a deep breath and tries to speak, but there is nothing she can say that will calm his temper; apart from an apology, but she ain't apologizin'.

"It was nothing, Daryl. He's only a _friend_." She finally says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world - because it should be - he's her husband, her man.

She watches him and she feels like she's meltin' – like her belly is about to implode and her mouth seems like it's _bretrayin_' her. She's so upset by the whole damn thing, and she can't even believe that this is happenin' right now.

"_Nothin'_?" His voice rasps out and echoes around the tiled room, bouncing off the walls.

"This is ridiculous baby, you're overreacting. Please _stop_ this." She tries, and she watches as her attempts fail. He throws his head back, shaggy hair bouncing from his forehead as he feigns laughter. She stands perfectly still, legs weakening by the second.

They had been so good for so long, and then she brought up a baby – and hell broke lose – for a second time.

"He fucking wants you, Beth, and you play along!" He yells, and she instantly thinks about Letta, and she's afraid of him in that moment – afraid that her daughter will find her daddy like this and that fucking terrifies her.

"That's not fair." She says quietly, and tears sting her eyes, and her lip quivers uncontrollably; his eyes snap to her face and he almost wants to apologize when he sees what he's caused.

"You know what's not fair, sweetheart? It's not fair that I work my ass off every fuckin' day while you live like a fucking princess! I bet he's fucked you in our bed, in fact, I bet you sneak him in as soon as I leave!" His words betray her, and he's hurting her worse than she thinks he could ever hurt her physically.

Because after everything, he's accusing her of betraying him when he's only betrayed her. She knows that she's givin' him the best thing he's ever had – and he knows it too.

"Oh, you're going to cry now? The tears ain't gonna work darling. Get out of my sight." He bites sharply, and she stares at him in disbelief. Shock is setting in, and he truly can not believe he's acting like this – like a child.

She steps forward, reaching her arm out to attempt contact, and he looks at her outstretched hand and rolls his eyes.

"I said get the fuck out of my sight." And that's it for her.

When she fails to listen, and venture closer to him, he snaps. She knows she has no chance against his strength as he yanks her hand hard and crashes her into the counter. She can hear a click in her rib, sending a side splitting pain through her torso, and he ignores the shriek of pain and presses flush against her.

"You are a slut." He growls, his pupils blown and burning into her face.

Inside, it hurts a little, but she knows he's doing this on purpose, and that fact that she maybe _likes_ it is _new_. She swallows thickly, her body helpless and aching between the counter and his solid form. As he grips her arm with brute force, a new emotion bubbles and spills in her stomach, raw, pent-up rage.

All that time that he neglected her and treated her like shit, and he was here doing this to her after she's givin' him the damn world.

"I didn't do anything wrong. You're nothing but an insecure, jealous piece of shit. You're no man." She spits back at him, and the words shock her, and by the look on his face, they surprise him too. She feels incredibly proud of sticking up for herself. She isn't sure if she's just playin' along, or if maybe she meant it in a way - either way, she's proud. For finally using her voice to him when she knows he's weak.

Daryl reels back for a moment, his knee and hand keeping her pinned, he flashes her a sadistic grin, leaning in close until she feels his breath on her cheek.

"I'll show you just how much of a man I am." He tells her, his lips almost on hers.

Her next gulp of air becomes lodged in her lungs, and he keeps her still against the work surface as he unleashes his rigid cock from his jeans and boxer-briefs, leaving the denim hanging under his ass.

She has all of two seconds to realize that the heated argument has aroused him immensely before he's tugging up her dress. In one swift movement, he swipes her panties to the side and rams his way inside her, stuffing her bare to the hilt. A hiss of pain escapes between her clenched teeth, and her unprepared walls contract and try to flush the foreign object from her body, and he has to brace his arm on the wall and physically hold himself inside her.

"Don't fucking resist me when you open your legs for every other bastard!" He grits in her ear, and even though she's raging – she ignores it and keeps her eyes trained on his.

He lunges forward, sinking his teeth into her throat, and her mouth flies open to scream in agony, and instead she cries out in arousal. It takes a brief moment of him gnawing on her neck to make her flood, and she instantly blushes shamefully as she can feel herself gush between her thighs.

She's so fuckin' angry – livid even, but she can't resist him – and she can't deny that she loves him so damn much and that she wants and craves him any and every moment of every day – no matter what the circumstance.

"Ah fuck! You just proved my point, girl." His voice is hoarse, straining in his throat. She revels in the times he's called her '_girl_', and she realizes that he hasn't called her that since Letta's been here, and she's _missed_ it.

His accusations of her adultery may be wrong, but he's hit the nail on the head, she is filthy because the mere thought of him bucking into her with sheer force creates a fire in your belly. She reacts by hooking her slender and strong leg around his waist, pushing against him in just the right way. It only seems right that she urge him on, whilst releasing some of her own frustration.

She soon finds her voice, and she decides two can play at his degrading game.

"Now what, tough guy? Do you think you've got it in you to rape your wife?" She sneers at him, her eyes trained on his, and she sees something flash in his eyes as he looks at her, and it takes him a second to respond, still thrusting deep up into her.

She knows him better than she thinks, and she knows he would never force himself on her - no matter the situation, and that's when she realizes that maybe this is just a game. Just a damn game for him, and that she's playin' pretty well.

"It isn't rape if she's willing, and you are so fucking wet for my cock right now, _darlin_'." He groans at her, lips almost on hers, and his eyes scan her face up and down, intimidating.

His harsh and bitter words send shockwaves through her, causing her hips to rock against him with the little movement she can manage. He groans, almost chokes, as he feels the friction on his solid length, and he shucks his jeans down to his knees and spreads open his legs, finding a better angle. He draws back, leaving his leaking head in her entrance, stretching her even further, and he thrusts up into her, slamming so violently that her pelvis twinges painfully. He keeps up the brutal pace, snapping his hips wildly, his pelvic bone grinds against her clit and that draws a low moan from her lips.

"You are mine, do you fucking hear me? _Mine_." His voice is low and growling, and he accentuates every word with a sharp buck into her dripping heat.

She's spiraling fast, all of her senses on overdrive as the aches mold with the indescribable pleasure his thick cock gives her. He shows no mercy as he pummels into her, the impact sending her head flying back into the cupboard.

"I own you, sweetheart." He tells her, and though she should tell him that no man owns her – she knows he does, and she's shamefully okay with that.

"Yes." She finally manage to slur, head spinning with lust.

"Who keeps you coming? Who gives you the hardest, most powerful orgasms you've ever had, girl?" He presses his mouth to her clavicle, panting desperately as he holds off his climax.

"You do." She whines, hips rolling in a sloppy attempt to match his fierce thrusts.

"Say my name." He finally says, and her eyes flash to his – almost nervous. Never in their years together has she said his name during sex, and he hadn't never asked for it. 'Til now.

His hand snakes to the back of her head, strong fingers grasping her hair as he pulls roughly. She cry out, her thighs slick with excruciating excitement. She keep quiet, and looks to where they're connected, smirking without letting him see.

"Say my name!" He roars furiously, never letting down his wicked tempo.

"Daryl!" She suddenly yells, picking her head up with her throat burning and extremely dry.

He grips her by the chin and gently but forcefully brings her gaze to meet his, and his eyes connected with hers bring him back down to earth, and he realizes that maybe this had been the wrong approach, but lookin' at her right now – maybe this time was okay.

"Come for me, sweetheart, come hard on my dick, and remember who gave this to you." He says, staring at her with lust – and he realizes how much he's missed her and he didn't even know it had been so long.

She draws back as much air as she can, holding the heavy breath in her lungs before expelling it in an agonizing scream, and she spasms uncontrollably, hot, sticky liquid coats his cock and sprays rapidly down her thighs. Her walls clamp down, trying to keep him inside of her forever, a strong contrast to the moment he entered her – and she milks him for all its worth, and then he's coming.

He releases a guttural howl, stilling inside of her as his thick seed paints her insides, and he fills her as full as he can and then some, his come leaking and mixing with her own fluids down her legs.

His muscles flex one last time before he flops against her, his muscles turned to mush, his nose buries into her hair, his breathing heavy and labored. She's not sure how long they both remain boneless and breathless against the counter, trying to steady their heartbeats. He finally raises his head, his irises have returned to their soft, blue hue and he's astonishingly smiling softly.

"Baby, did I hurt you?" He finally asks her, looking at her with soft eyes, his hand going to her cheek, and she looks back at him and she's honest with him.

"Just a little, but I'll live." She says, her eyes on his, and she can see the repentance.

"'M sorry. I just lost it." His voice sounds like a child, tellin' his momma he's sorry for doin' somethin' bad, and she can't help but grip his arms.

She slides her leg down from its resting place above his ass, her body leaning forward to rest against him, and he pulls her easily into his embrace, slowly taking her downwards until she's in his lap on the floor. He rocks her, his mouth littering kisses over her damp forehead, his hands caress her back, running down her spine to create a beautiful chill on her skin.

"He's just a friend darlin', why would I throw this away for him?" She asks, and she's looking up at him with all the innocence he needs, and he smiles down at her.

He hooks a finger under her chin, brining her in for a kiss that is laced with understood love.

* * *

"Do it again." He tells her, and she looks up at him amused, and laughs a little and he watches her as she sits there.

She's got her hair down, and her pants are off – and even though his mind shouldn't be there it always is.

"There ain't no more to take, Daryl. I've already taken all three." She says, pulling her pants on and getting up from the toilet and shovin' the stick into his chest.

He takes it without thinking, and grabs her wrist before she can walk away. He looks down at her and he can't help but smile and he pulls her to him and lifts her onto the counter, kissing her hard – afraid if he lets go he'll wake up.

"Mama, what are we…" His lips pull away from hers, and he looks down at Letta and smirks at her before pattin' her head and walkin' out of the small space, leavin' her to it. He walks down the stairs and out onto the porch, and he almost wants to shout it out – to let everyone know that they're havin' another baby – that he's actually damn fertile, and can even make babies.

He refrains, and instead sits on the step, twiddlin' his thumbs.

Nine months later he's doin' the same damn thing in that same damn chair he was in five years ago, and he's lookin' down at his new baby and he's dazed.

"Evelyn?" She asks, and he looks down at her and nods – still in disbelief that he's now got three damn moody girls in his house. He was so damn sure it was a boy – and he knew he'd be different than his own daddy – and damn it if he was excited to have a son.

But he was not expectin' this. Another screamin' girl, wrapped around his damn finger. First thing Beth told him when Jessie told them it was a girl was that they'd just have another and his eyes damn well almost popped outta his head at that.

"Yeah, Evie's good." He tells her, his voice gruff of exhsuation and even though he's tired, he cant take his eyes off of her because this time is so different. He knows this, and he's seen this, and he's felt the first time daddy feelin', but this is new.

This joy of gettin' to do it again, and its excitin' for him. He wants to do it this time. Wants to be there for everythin' – wants to change all her diapers and shit. He wants to be a daddy again – and maybe again – and he's smilin' from ear to ear now.

It's only seconds later that Letta comes in, screamin' for her mama, and he wants to shake her for that – instantly tellin' her to shush, and he picks her up on his knee, and Beth looks at her too, tellin' her that she's got a baby sister.

And damn him to hell at that. Both his girls schemin' together – and they got what they wanted. Executed their plan, and somehow made it happen. Maybe it had been illogical, but it had worked none the less. His girls were damn firecrackers, and his hands came up to rub his eyes when he realized that.

* * *

It's the next day when he's holding the newborn in his arms when he's crying. Hot tears are streaming down his face and he's sniffling uncontrollably as he watches her sleep. Maybe he didn't revel in this when Letta was a baby, but he's lookin' down at this girl and he's a mess. He's so gone - so not himself anymore. Now, here, he's a completely different man - and he was completely okay with that. She's so tiny - maybe even smaller than Letta was, and she's so beautiful. There aren't many moments in his life when he's let himself cry - and he can't exactly figure out why exactly he's doin' it now.

Maybe he's realizing that its okay to be happy - and to love this baby so much that it hurts - because they're finally okay and they're finally safe together. They wanted this baby and they tried for her - and he doesn't think he's done anything in his life that can top this. Makin' babies with Beth was it. That was goin'a be his life - and he didn't know it all along, but here he was now. Never did he ever think he'd have three girls in his life that were _his_ and that he loved.

He realizes that he's rocking in the chair, and he laughs at that because it is a rocking chair - and he didn't put it to use once since they've had it. He can't remember holdin' Letta when she was like this, and that almost makes him cringe - but he's almost okay with that because he knows she doesn't doubt his love for her, and he promises himself that this baby never will either.

Evie was all Beth. Letta had dark hair like him, and her eyes were a deep blue closer to his than to hers, but this one was all her. Her blonde hair was fine and thin, and her eyes were so bright and clear like the sea. Her skin was soft but still a bit darker than Beth's, though not by much. She was this perfect little angel, and the soft pink onesie she had on was hard against his dark tanned hand, rough and calloused from rough years - and she's so pure and so new and so innocent and it's so clashing, but it's beautiful.

Beth tells him that he's the best daddy - maybe even better than her own, and that almost makes him choke. He missed Hershel more than he ever thought he would, and sometimes he wishes he felt his hand on his shoulder reassurin' him that he was doin' alright - but it never came.

And maybe that's why he's cryin', because he really don't know why he is, but he is.

her hand brings him out of his daze, and he looks up at her as she touches his cheek, and he leans into her palm, looking at her and his heart feels like it clenches in his chest when he looks at her. She's a damn miracle that makes miracles and he's so amazed by her that he doesn't even have any words to tell her. She smiles at him and lets him know that dinner's ready, and she brushes Evie's small tuft of hair, and she takes her from his arms, lifting her onto her shoulder before kissing her head and lowering her back into her crib. He watches her, and as soon as her back straightens, he grabs her arm and turns her to him, crushing her lips onto his, her body rough against his.

Her face is gripped in his hand, and she kisses him with just as much need as he does her, and when they pull away, his forehead rests against hers and he whispers a small _I love you._

* * *

He never thought about what it would be like when they fought.

So far, it had just been Letta all this time and he never had to deal with the bickerin' and complainin', and hell she _wanted_ a sister. She told him herself, and here she was. The screamin' was ringing in his ears, and all he could hear was the _it's mine, go away, i hate you, your so annoying'! _and he was about ready to pop off the handle.

"_Daddy_, Evie took my pink rock, and its _mine_!" she screamed at him, and he eyed her with a straight line across his lips and he didn't have a fuckin' clue as to what to do. This was usually Beth's thing…calm n' down his crazy girls, and he left it to her because he seemed to see that she could get it done no problem. Now though, with Beth runnin' for some supplies, he was left to it on his own.

"It's a damn rock, girl…go find another'ne - theres outa be thousands just outside." He told her, getting up from the chair at the table, and patting her on the head, hearing her huff as he walked away. He passed by his youngest girl, and she smiled innocently up at him, and at only three years old she knew exactly how to wrap him just so tight around his finger, and he was gone. She made him so damn weak - so much like her momma that he couldn't go against her, and though he loved Letta just as much, Evie could sink him to her knees if she wanted to.

"It's the only pink one i ever saw, daddy!" Letta moans behind him, and he swirls back and looks down at Evie again, and the happiness he sees in her eyes when she's lookin' at the damn rock in her hands is too much for him to handle.

"Evie - you shouldn't take things from your sister - this is hers, and you gotta give it back." He kneels down in front of the blonde girl, and she looks up at him, her brow furrowing and he can see it comin'.

His hand reaches out to grab the small circle from her hands, and she doesn't fight back - letting it go easily, and he slips it back to Letta, and she thanks him and runs back to her room, and he's left with a sulking three year old that will most likely run to her momma and tell her that he took away her toy - and he would get in trouble.

* * *

Evelyn screamed like Scarlett had made her eat the worm. She ran out of the trees and towards the porch of the back of the house, leaving her doll behind on the ground. Letta sat beside the doll and began rubbing its hair in the dirt, trying to distract herself from the funny feeling in her belly. The worm couldn't really be wriggling around inside her.

She contemplated burying the stupid doll and telling Evie she hadn't seen it when she asked, and she even started to dig the hole with the doll's own feet, but beginning to feel sorry for it, she stopped. She wiped the doll clean on her skirt and carried it back to the house with her.

Evie wasn't even grateful. She was telling mama about the worm and asking her to make Letta stop eating worms and playing in the mud. Evie thought her mama looked amused, but when she turned to her, she realized that she was anything _but_ amused.

"Scarlett, you have mud on your dress." She told her, and Letta knew instantly that she was in trouble. Mama rarely yelled at her or got angry, because that was daddy's job…but having her mama mad with her was makin' her more upset than any scolding' her daddy ever gave her.

Beth hated scolding her girls - because that was all Daryl. But when Scarlett came in with her new dress covered in mud, that was it. The girls fought continuously - granted over silly, un-important things, but never the less - they needed to know when they were wrong. Though she could scold her oldest daughter if she needed to - she found it nearly impossible to scold Evie. She loved both her girls equally - but that younger daughter of hers was her baby - her last one she knew she'd probably have, and she wanted to protect her from any hurt - even from her own mother.

Letta glowered at Evie. She never got mud on her clothes. Evie hated anything dirty - and liked bright colors, and cried to their mama while Letta enjoyed the grade and the dirt, and she preferred shades of blue rather than purple. She ran to her daddy more than her mama, and maybe that sparked jealousy. So she had once pushed Evie down into a puddle of mud to show her how much fun it could be, but she had only cried and then her daddy had punished her.

"Scarlett Dixon, this was a new dress. Wear an old one next time." Her mama told her, and she ducked her head in a little because she was realizin' how bad it felt to have mama angry at her.

It was that night when both sisters were in their room and Evelyn had taken her doll back, and Scarlett seemed to have grown attached to her sister's toy within the day. The doll liked there mud more than her sister - so she figured she'd just keep her around.

"It's not _yours_!"

"But I had it firstist it's _mine_!"

"Give it _back_!"

"_No_!"

The door slams open against the wall with a crashing thud, and both girls look up quickly to see him in the doorway, tall and bruising and they both cower down, and look at each other.

His hand wipes against his forehead, and he looks down at them and just sighs because he's so damn tired of these girls and all the complainin'. The world was over, and all they could do was argue about what was ands wasn't theirs. Made sense he guessed, nothing better to do than fight with each other over what was territory. Kinda almost mirrored his life and he laughed at that because instead of fighting over land, they fought over rocks and dolls, and he almost reveled in the innocence.

He knew Beth would scold him for not scolding them, so he walks forward and takes the doll from Evelyn's hands, and though she cries immediately after he tells them both that they won't get it back until they can learn to share it.

Scarlett protests and tells him she isn't a _baby_, and he quirks an eyebrow at her and tells her she's just a _kid_ \- and they he's her dad - and what he says _goes_. Evie continues to cry, and she hits her small fists into the carpet, clear anger and frustration of not getting her way, or maybe even feeling smaller than her sister getting the best of her.

Letta groans and walks past him, almost shovin' him into the wall and he just scuffs her off - looking back to the younger girl on the floor who looks at him and tells him how mean he is, and he wants to laugh because _damn_ _it_ they're just like him, and he can't blame them for it.

* * *

*Cringe* Hope it wasn't too bad! Review and let me know what you think, and what you would like to see next for these two! Or four! Hehe…love ya! Xo

-Stephanie


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